


Sickness

by AristaStarfyr



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Science Fiction & Fantasy, fae, mortal, sauran, tivus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:14:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23521375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AristaStarfyr/pseuds/AristaStarfyr
Summary: Finally getting some original work in now that I have the down time to do it.  A lost mortal is rescued by the tivus, in particular one healer for a mountain.  While facing her own folly and inadequacies, will she be able to turn the minds of a people to see that not all are killers?





	Sickness

The Creeping Sickness was a lung ailment. That was all she knew. The list os symptoms were short and nasty and when she watched the High Healer pack his things to go to the rise that had been affected, she couldn't help but feel the dread freeze her blood. He hadn't been away from her since he found her in the desert. It hadn't been a long time and she didn't quite trust the others. When she went to bathe or allow herself to be guided by the Healer around the mesa, it had been in the cover of darkness, or what the mesa had defined as 'night.'

It was hard to explain that the connotations for day and night were more than a little fluid. She had never been inside a natural structure like this. Of course, she knew about caves in the mountains and sometimes trees could be hollowed out but this was a mesa and the inside had been hollowed out as if the exterior was nothing more than a fancy castle. The ceiling was so high that the roof was cloaked in darkness, and when one was on one of the rises (the giant stalagmites that rose up and were sheared flat so that the surface could be used as living space) and looked down, they couldn't see the ground. Day and night were determined by the magical orbs that were 'lit' by the light kin. While the orbs did not hang over the very top of the mesa's ceiling, they were localized over the rises and various areas over the ground where farming was conducted. She had yet to get an answer that she could understand as to how all of that worked.

But now her security was leaving her. He hadn't been away from her since he found her in the Wastes, nearly a desiccated husk out in the sands. The Healer had been kind but the others still stared at her like she was an oddity or a thing that wasn't capable of speech or civility. Maybe she wasn't. She understood words but was working on learning their language. A person capable of rational thought would have wanted to return to their home and to their people. She felt she had none. She was still wondering why this person saved her life when it seemed very clear that his people would have preferred that he hadn't. She looked so alien to them! Her eyes were that of an animal's, white surrounding color surrounding black. She wore no scales and much of her skin had very fine, sparse hair everywhere with the largest concentration on her head. Because of the lack of scales, she would cloth herself in the most ridiculous looking wraps and shawls, keeping hidden away from the others. At first, it was because of her injuries but now her burnt skin was healed and blotchy with the scars of the sun's damage. She still peeled, but the layers were very fine instead of the thick patches that first came off. 

Her clothing was something she had crafted herself once her skin could tolerate having fabric against it. Light gossamer strips of cloth were belted in overlapping panels at her waist and wound around her chest. Her other clothes had been cleaned and wrapped up, tucked away behind storage baskets along with whatever weapons that had been found with her. The Healer had brought it all in with her broken body and had assured the nervous people that she wasn't a threat to them. At best, she was dying at the time. Now that she was well, she hadn't made any motions to take up her weapons and attack. There simply was no reason to but generations of fear and prejudice did not disappear within a few turns of the moons. Her hair was pale, the color of bleached straw and had been plaited into a single thick braid to keep the individual strands from irritating her tender and highly sensitive skin. Her lack of scales and claws and horns and the lack of motivation to communicate kept her alienated from the others-which she still didn't mind. Upon looking at how close-knit these people were, she didn't feel comfortable enough to begin to integrate into their society. She didn't deserve it. Not after what she had done.

She watched him as he scanned his herb stores, picking out what would be most useful. He was a man of unwanted action and she had learned that about him when he treated her and cared for her damaged skin. Gentle, agile fingers would smooth healing salves over cracked and bleeding skin, never over-treating one area more than another. Her thought snapped suddenly to the present when she saw his tail lash. For anyone else, it was a simple, gentle adjustment like how one would shift their weight on their feet. But to her, with the days and days of care he had given her, it was a terror-filled lash of desperation.

She stood up, watching his ears flick here and there, twitching once in her direction as he detected movement. They were much larger than her own and mobile like a horse or deer or another similar animal. Then they rotated back to his stores as he bent lower to examine a particular cluster of jars. " _Did you... mix the order of these_?" His voice was warm and pleasant even with the query. And the language he used wasn't his native tongue, nor was it hers, really. The tongue of the fae was something that had bound them together and ensured that she wouldn't bolt or fight. And he was the only one who knew it, as far as she knew. But she was lost for the moment, thinking that claws and fangs didn't suit him. Not with his gentle nature and kind demeanor.

" _Here_ ," she responded in the same language. Smaller than he, she stepped between the rows, lifting a jar that was laden with leaves essential for fever reduction. She straightened, then looked up. He was nearly two heads taller than her and looked at her with eyes that held no pupil that she could easily see. They could have been mistaken for a blind man's eyes if she hadn't known better. They were pale like hers, but more hazel and lest brilliant sky blue. His scales were a deep serpentine color with a faint pattern of emerald in them. His facial structure was more feline than human; he bore a small, flattish nose that didn't jut out like hers. And his face was flatter, more heart-shaped than her high, angular cheekbones. His hair was long and unbound, almost whispy in appearance but abundant and thick. In certain lighting, it looked brown, in other light, it was a rich, rusty red. Just behind his fawn-like ears were a pair of horns, long and thick as they paralleled the curve of his head. They gave him the appearance of some ethereal forest spirit. She knew better, though. No self-respecting forest spirit would ever bind themselves to the desert of Four Winds.

She was smaller, much smaller against his taller frame. She came to his chest with the crown of her head merely a finger width below his shoulder. Blond hair cascaded from her head in bleached white waves when unbraided, settling against her lower back. Her skin was still mottled from the suns' damage but the dusting of freckles down her nose and across her shoulders were still there and most likely would become blotches instead of specks. Her eyes were a clear blue that reflected in the crystal pools of water on the lower levels, right and bright. She stood before him unafraid, the clay jar balanced in her hands.

" _Playing tricks again_?" He asked softly with just a hint of amusement. He hadn't raised his voice to her and had seen when others had in fear. She reacted badly and justifiably defensively. The Mortal acted every bit a tortured wild animal and he couldn't blame her given the state she was found in and what had happened to her after. She didn't need a harsh word spoken to her or a beating when she was obstinate. She needed understanding and silent acceptance. His hands, larger than hers and befitted with claws that looked like they were suited for slashing or digging in soft earth, took the jar with barely a brush to her skin. He didn't let on that he was pleased she didn't shy away at that time. Those episodes were becoming increasingly rare.

She didn't answer him and he didn't press for anything verbal. Her eyes held worry and pain while her throat remained silent. Much of their communication was quiet and given his many years being a healer, he knew very well how much could be said with but a look or an intake of breath. He smiled softly, dipping his head to acknowledge the unspoken question. " _I will be all right. My people need their healer_." He turned to pack the container into the sturdy bad he intended to bring and felt a tug on his tail. It was no more forceful than a small child trying to gain their parent's attention but the fact that it came from  _ her _ was a tremendous act.

" _I need my healer, too_." 

He never heard what her voice was like before he found her injured. He imagined it wasn't so husky and deep. After all the time that had passed, it was determined that this was her new voice now and it didn't surprise him that she didn't speak much. To have such an intimate part of a person change so permanently took time to adjust to and she had so many other things to accept before the timbre of her voice.

The words struck a chord within and he purposefully kept his back to her. She had been his patient for so long that sometimes he forgot that she wasn't a companion. Sometimes....he even forgot that she was mortal. Long ago (if he even registered it at all) he became blind to the body that was scaleless; ignored the mortal shell that was the very embodiment of fear and destruction. Even the saurans did not trifle with mortals. Nor should his people, for that matter, but he was never the one to let a soul suffer needlessly, no matter how much they believed otherwise.

" _I will return to you as soon as I am able to_." He finished packing his supplies, turning to face her again. While some of his visitors went out of their way to wear as little as possible when coming to his home just to 'freak out the mortal,' he had chosen long robes that were tied at the waist. A panel was cut out of the back to allow his tail to move freely and embroidery of golden thread etching out runes were carefully stitched at the hemlines of the sleeves and opening down to the floor. He moved back to tivus, knowing she really should be learning the language. "You will not be left alone, here. The young BloodSpeaker will remain with you."

She shook her head; the woman's understanding of the language was much more competent than her speaking it. "I come with. To help."

"No. You've just recovered. It would be careless of me to bring you and you fall because of it."

"I no sick." Looking flustered and frustrated, she switched to Fae. " _I won't become ill. You can't heal an entire rise on your own_." Determined and stubborn. Those qualities had kept her alive when all seemed hopeless. They were also excellent qualities for healing, too. Without thinking, he trailed a claw feather-light along her jawline.

"That's why you'll stay here," he reiterated, ignoring her last comment. He wouldn't put other people at risk and he was sure that once some started to recover, they could help. He stepped in closer, pleased that she didn't shy away. It was probably mean of him to use the situation to his advantage but the fact that she wasn't spooking at his presence gave him hope that she might listen. "Please. Stay. I will work faster and be home sooner if I know you're safe."

"Dahni..." Her voice choked as her eyes turned glassy.

"Stay. Illeana."


End file.
